


His White Knight

by writingramblr



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, NO TWIST ENDING BULLSHIT, magical healing, otherwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:53:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: Credence is host to a power even he doesn't understand, and there is someone who can help him, with more than just that, if he lets him. The magical world is literally at his fingertips, and he can't imagine how he got so lucky.  [canon compliant to a point, and follows my other pre-movie ficlet]





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> also hi i am a huge sinner and if you keep reading so are you.  
> i blew through all the graves x credence fics on here that weren't super dark and or DUBCON like crazy, and i will admit drawing inspiration from one or two, but otherwise this does loosely follow the movie, to a point.
> 
> i don't know when the bullshit really started, ie when Graves was no longer himself, but i like to think i leave it more open ended to not have happened like that, or Graves gets knocked out and his identity stolen after this story before the end of the movie, before the final obscurus attack, etc.
> 
> THIS IS BASICALLY AN AU bc smut and angst and fluff is my JAM.
> 
>  
> 
> and the reason i put age difference, is because while CREDENCE IS AN ADULT IE 18 MOST LIKELY, he's still at least a handful of years younger than Graves so yeah. also its sexier in my mind when graves calls him 'my boy' rather than whatever else. sorry.

_The rain had not yet turned to ice, not like a cold slap across the face, not yet. It was still more than freezing out, so the midday rain kissed his cheeks, and made the ink run on the pamphlets still clutched tight in his hand, as the crowd kept moving around him, like a river over a rock, ignoring his murmured queries and no one ever seem to notice his outstretched hand, not looking for handouts, but trying to pass along knowledge._

_That’s what Mary Lou constantly reminded him it was._

_It’s for the greater good._

_He looks up when he feels eyes on him, though people continue to pass him left and right, as if he is rooted to the sidewalk, like just another lamp post or a dying tree surrounded by an invisible metal fence, and he sees a man, impeccably dressed, across the street, standing to the left of the golden glass doors that lead to the main office building with letters spelling out Woodsworth in brass lettering, that graced downtown._

_The man was looking at him with something sharper than pity, and something warmer than curiosity. As if caught doing something wrong, he looked away, tried to save the pamphlets tucked under the rain soaked ones, and when he chanced another glance over at the building, the man was gone._

_Maybe he was never there._

_Like the burns on his hand that he could heal, the sickness that never lasts from standing out in wet chilly weather all day every day, perhaps his mind was now playing tricks on him, giving him visions._

_He hoped not. He doesn’t need another thing to hide, to have to confess in silence in the dark._

*

Percival Graves spotted the boy the next day after Tina had left for her suspension. He’s exactly as she described, he looks meek, downtrodden, and yet still tries to hold himself like he doesn’t want to shatter. He can’t be much more than seventeen, but he’s no child. He’s an adult being held back from growing up, like a flower being kept under a glass.

All the Barebone 'children' must be like that, but Graves only can see the boy. The others must have left for the day, or as Tina mentioned, handed out all of their propaganda properly.

For some reason, the boy lingers on, fists full of papers and body frozen, as if unwilling to step out of the rain, even for a moment of a respite.

Graves considers casting a charm, drying and shielding the boy from the elements, and he would never have to know, but then again, their orphanage was run by a horrible woman, and she’d ask questions, and take it out on the children if anything supernatural that didn’t seem heaven sent were to occur.

So he simply balled his hands into fists, and walked away.

Now was not the time.

He would approach another day, and use the boy’s work for a way to tell him what he was there for. He would be the boy’s true salvation.

*

Credence tried not to look for the man, and he dutifully stood at the corner of the street, from the early morning, with his stomach still growling from the meager portion of hot gruel he’d had, until the sun had rose high in the cloudy sky, his hands beginning to shake and his voice quavering slightly from exhaustion.

He had been flanked by Modesty and Chastity, but after a few hours, the girls had beaten him, and given away all their pamphlets. They also had less to be rid of, so in a way, he was meant to be last.

He’d been up late the night before, unwilling to sleep, unsure if he wanted to dream of happier things, the kind woman, Tina, who was branded a witch by his….not mother, and the man who looked so much like he’d been from the same world as Tina.

Two hours before dawn, he’d finally lost the fight, and done just that, dreamed of a world where he didn’t have to hide anything, and he was treated with kindness, and didn’t fear every day.

When the hour chimed on the clock high on the City Bank entrance, three blocks down, Credence knew it was likely he could be kept busy, by the crowds that would emerge seeking sustenance, and he lifted his head higher, and tried to smile.

“Please take one, our next meeting will be this Saturday, on the steps of the city hall, we will stop this menace on the city, together.”

He wasn’t really speaking to anyone in particular, just hoping to catch the ear of one kind person in the crowd, until someone did step up, and a hand reached out to catch his own, and graciously accepting one of the flyers.

“Thank you. I’m immensely intrigued by your organization. A friend of mine told me to come speak with you. So tell me, how do you spot one of these witches?”

Credence thought maybe his mind had taken over, begun to trick him, the exhaustion was getting almost painful, and he swayed where he stood, until a strong arm braced his own, and his hand shook, dropping and scattering the remaining pamphlets.

“Are you quite all right?”

The strangers voice changed in tone almost immediately, from light and conversational, to a hushed sort of rasp, tinged with concern.

Credence nodded his head frantically, and tried to summon as much strength as he could without losing grip on his current objective.

“Of course, thank you Mister…”

He glanced to his savior, and the words he’d been preparing died on his tongue. It was the man from across the street, not that much taller than him now that he was so close, but still dressed in a handsome suit, with black shimmering tie pins that looked almost like spiders, and something that tickled his nose. Before he could stop himself, he breathed deeply of it, relishing the cold air and the scent that smelled almost spicy.

The man’s cologne.

“Graves, Percival Graves. But please, let’s get you somewhere to sit down; you look as if you could faint in the street.”

The man walked with him, and Credence wasn’t sure where they were going, until he recognized the alleyway beside the bank, and the foot traffic and automobiles seemed to quiet.

“Where?”

Credence barely had time to ask, before the man, Graves, was pulling a thin piece of wood from within his jacket, and his hand tightened on Credence’s arm, then, nothingness.

Or like falling down a black hole, into darkness with the total absence of light, and he couldn’t breathe, but not for lack of air, merely a hard pressure on his chest.

*

Graves knew it was probably risky, performing magic in front of the boy so soon after just walking into his life, but if he’d witnessed Tina do it, and wasn’t scared of her, he suspected there would be no objection.

He’d apparated them to the hotel he was staying in while his home was fumigated for doxies, as a nest had been found inside one of the walls. It certainly explained the noises that would go bump in the night, as Graves lived alone, very much so, no ghouls or other such things resided with him.

The hotel contained a small bistro, along with a bar and a giftshop, which held many unique trinkets, mostly for tourists.

“What was that?”

The boy was asking, somewhat in a low hushed tone, staring around himself at the ornate raised ceiling of the lobby.

Graves smiled apologetically,

“That was the easiest way to get you here, I’m afraid. I didn’t want to cause you any undue trouble, and you’ll be back at your post before you know it. But come, I suspect you haven’t had a good meal in a long time…if what Miss Goldstein told me was true, you have a less than welcoming home.”

His hand remained on the boy’s arm, lest he begin to collapse from the trip or the dehydration that clearly afflicted him, and he waved to the host for a table as they entered the bistro.

“How…why me?”

After Graves had ordered them each a bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, along with a pot of green tea, he looked to the boy, who seemed to think himself in a dream, or perhaps a feverish state.

“As you know, the woman who made the disturbance at your, uh, guardian’s last meeting, she was there to try and help you, and your sisters. Unfortunately, she’s unable to continue that, so she asked me to do so. Right now of course, it’s more important to restore you to a better state, as I will need your help. You understand?”

The boy, Credence, as Tina had told him, nodded slowly, and continued to look around, as if drinking in the sights and sounds of the place, surely one of the more beautiful things he’d seen in a long while.

It was almost painful to watch him eat, as if he was expecting the food to vanish from his hands before he’d finished a bite.

Graves barely touched his own, perfectly content to allow the leftovers to be boxed and sent up to his room for later. But he suspected Credence would not have such a luxury.

“Go on, it’s okay. Eat as much as you like. The tea is excellent with some honey.”

He reached over to the cluster of condiments, and held out the amber container, like bottled sunshine, to the boy, who simply stared.

“I’ve never had it before.”

Graves frowned,

“Tea? Or honey?”

Credence shook his head,

“Neither. We just have heated water with our meals on cold nights. Sugar is too expensive.”

Graves thought he could feel his heart shattering for the boy, and the thought of all the other children younger than him living in not just an oppressive and manipulative home, but being practically starved alive.

“Try it, please.”

The boy took the bottle, almost reverently, and nodded,

“Thank you. I’m sorry, I should have said that sooner. Thank you for this…”

Graves sighed, and the boy seemed almost afraid, as if he’d made a terrible faux pas.

“Not at all. I’m glad to be able to help you. Now, we’ve only got a short bit of time left, and there is something I must ask you.”

*

Credence couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so warm, and his stomach didn’t hurt and ache from emptiness. The teacup fit perfectly in his hands, and the flavor with the soft sweetness of honey was incredible.

Delicate, and lingering, it was like the liquid warmed him from inside out.

The man, Graves, talked to him in a low voice, even though there were only a couple other patrons scattered over the dining room.

He mentioned something Credence didn’t quite understand, but he knew exactly what he was speaking of, yet, he couldn’t confess it right away. What if the man never came back?

The magic that surrounded him, even in the building, the room, across from the man who clearly possessed such similar power, was intoxicating, and Credence didn’t want it to go away.

“Okay. I’ll do my best.”

Graves leaned back in his chair and smiled,

“Excellent. I’m glad to hear that. Are you ready to go?”

Credence looked to his cup, but it was empty. Somehow, without even thinking, he’d finished his tea.

“Yes, thank you.”

It wasn’t like he could ever say it enough. As they left the little café, Graves put his hand to Credence’s shoulder, gripping not quite as tightly as Mary Lou could, but as if guiding him.

The hallway seemed to glitter as the sunlight trickled in through the glass panes above the door, and Graves drew his wand, for of course, that was what it was, and didn’t speak a word, but the hotel vanished, and the darkness returned, pressing into Credence’s chest.

A chill met his skin as they returned to the alleyway, and Graves’ hand left his shoulder,

“Now, I’ll come to you again in a week’s time, does that sound all right?”

Credence nodded, almost afraid to look up at the man, to break the spell, of the moment.

“Take care of yourself.”

Graves lingered for a moment, as if wanting to say more, and then Credence did dare to glance at him, and found him watching him, that same sort of element of concern in his dark eyes, before he turned, and vanished into thin air.

That night, after dinner, and before confession, Mary Lou hit him for losing his pamphlets, and he relished the burn of the welts, leaving them alone, and wondering what Graves would say.

Sleep came surprisingly easy, even though he’d had almost nothing for dinner. The wonderful lunch lingered on, and he had nothing to say to the creatures in the dark nothingness of night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 

The Obscurus was out of control. It had killed the up and coming Senator Shaw the night before, after a day ago ripping apart a No-Maj building, and luckily not harming anyone inside.

Two weeks now, of meeting the boy, and now the situation had become more than just a pet project, Graves needed to find the Obscurus, before the President declared a state of emergency.

Graves was almost desperate to find out which of the children in the orphanage was concealing the power, and if Credence had discovered anything useful.

Not that the boy, well, younger man, wasn’t a delight to spend time with, watching as he slowly took the hand Graves offered, the healing he encouraged, and the promise of teaching him to be like him, to be more than he was, even if it was a bit of a bending of truth.

Magic could not be taught or learned, but then again, anything was possible with an open mind, something those New Salem fools had no idea of.

Graves left the second his lunch hour arrived, and the alleyway was clearly envisioned in his mind, but the second he landed, he knew something was different.

Credence was shrunk up against a brick wall, cradling his right hand to his chest with his left, and Graves was instantly moving towards him.

“What happened?”

The boy looked up at him with pure terror in his eyes, and opened his mouth as if to answer, but nothing came out, only a gasp of a sob.

“Let me see.”

Graves stretched out a hand, careful and slow, so he thought, but Credence still shied away, as if he expected him to hurt the young man.

“I’m not going to harm you. You must trust me.”

Credence finally nodded, and then crept closer, hands shaking, as he held out his right, the maimed one, red marks on his palm, and congealed blood darkened in several places.

Graves gritted his teeth and placed his palm just above the boy’s, letting the wordless healing charm do its work.

The boy gasped aloud, and lifted his hand to the light, dim though it was, as the sun had not emerged from behind the clouds all day,

“Thank you sir, Mister Graves. I don’t know how to repay you.”

Something deep down inside his gut clenched, and Graves’ mind sped into overdrive even as his words kept things as they should be,

“Think nothing of it. What brought about this latest punishment? Did you refuse to confess your daily sins?”

He meant it to make light, to diffuse the tension, but the boy shook his head, and simply stared at him before replying,

“I found a wand under Modesty’s bed, and Mary Lou saw it. She thought it was mine. Even though Modesty tried to save me, _she_ still beat me.”

Graves sighed heavily, and his other arm wrapped around Credence’s shoulders, pulling him in for a quick hug, almost unconsciously.

“I’m so sorry for that. But at least it was only a small wound. I can take care of that easily for you. Not that I want you to have to need me to do that…”

Graves trailed off, unsure where he had been going with that line of thought, but certain it was probably best to stop while he was ahead.

But the boy was shaking, and pressing his cheek to Graves’ shoulder, as if unwilling to part just yet.

“It wasn’t. That was just from last night. I have several days’ worth. It’s like she wants to punish me for the death of the senator.”

Graves stiffened slightly, and he knew it would be infinitely more difficult to press the boy about the Obscurus if he thought he would suffer more at the hands of that horrible woman.

She suspected him of trying to practice magic, as evidenced by the mysterious wand that somehow ended up in the orphanage, and that alone told him one of the children there had to be as curious about if they could control their power through that.

But having seen how one of their own was treated for mere possession of such an object surely it would mean they were further in hiding. It meant another attack was imminent.

“How badly are you hurt Credence?”

It was the first time Graves had spoken his name aloud, and it felt and tasted right.

The boy pulled back and looked at him, as if hardly daring to believe he would care,

“I can’t sleep but on my stomach. My back feels like it is on fire.”

His mouth was quavering as he spoke, and Graves felt an invisible fist tighten over his heart.

“Come with me.”

Graves still had a hand on the boy’s arm, and he tightened it, spinning on his heel, and disapparating.

*

Credence could scarcely believe it.

Neglecting his power all week to heal himself had been extremely difficult, but if it meant Graves looked at him like that, and touched him like that, using wand less magic, it was all worth it.

He hadn’t been lying. He hadn’t slept well at all if not on his front, and it was best to help contain any bodily reaction he might have had due to the recent increase in the sort of dreams his mind had seen fit to torture him with.

“Where are we going?”

Of course he recognized the atrium of the hotel where he’d eaten so many days before with Graves, but he was pulled along further, towards a spiraling staircase, and the man squeezed his arm gently,

“Somewhere more comfortable than an alleyway. I’m sure you don’t want to be taken to a healer, so I’m going to do my best to take care of your back. All right?”

Credence could only follow him, almost as if walking in a daze, until they paused before a modestly decorated door, dark washed wood with silver vines winding across and down the surface, and Graves flicked his wand at it, causing it to swing inward, revealing a spacious and well furnished room.

“Come along now.”

The door swung closed behind him, even while Credence was still drinking in the rest of the room, and he spotted a pair of doors that likely led to a balcony.

“Now, do you mind?”

Graves was standing beside a plush leather couch, and he gestured for Credence to come closer.

“What should I do?”

Graves sat down, almost gingerly on the chair, and flicked his wand again, and the clasp of Credence’s jacket twitched,

“I need to be able to see your injuries to heal them properly. Think of it like a medical visit. Purely scientific.”

Credence felt something like a slumbering monster roar to life inside his chest, and he fought to breathe, to focus, to remain centered.

It would be of no use to unleash his power here, now, when there was no threat.

_Only temptation_ , a voice that sounded much like Mary Lou’s, whispered in the back of his mind.

 

No. It was simply kindness and caring. No dishonor there.

His hands fumbled on his jacket, almost ripping off and tossing it aside, not caring where it landed. Graves didn’t seem to react, in fact, he wasn’t looking anywhere but at Credence’s face, eyes locked on one another.

The vest and tie were more complicated, but seemed to almost ease themselves off his body, and Credence was prepared to suspect magic might finally be aiding him in more ways than one, until only his white undershirt remained.

The fabric had been chafing over the half healed cuts and bruises all day, but he’d ignored them in the face of the upcoming meeting with Graves. Now the pain made itself known again, and he winced, and broke the stare with Graves, as he worked to undo the shirt.

“Here, let me help you.”

When he looked up again, he nearly fell backwards as he realized the man was inches away from him, wand nowhere to be seen, just his hands, steady and sure, overtop his, guiding them away, and methodically and carefully undoing the final buttons.

“Thank you.”

Credence found himself saying, in a hushed sort of a whisper, as if he could end it all by speaking too loudly.

Graves’ hands left the fabric, and one slid up to cup his face, his thumb brushing over Credence’s cheek, and he couldn’t hold back the full body shiver that seemed to climb down his spine.

“It’s all right. Turn around for me.”

*

The heat of the moment that had turned from innocent to something darker was broken by the revealing of the boy’s bare back to Graves’ eyes, and he nearly cursed aloud at the sight.

Almost a dozen red welts, and some reaching from the boy’s neck down to his lower back. Graves’ hands gently caressed his arms, guiding the shirt off the rest of the way, and placing it onto the couch behind him.

He drew his wand, and began to murmur under his breath, and Credence shivered again, whether from cold or from the sensation of his skin healing, Graves couldn’t be sure.

“Hold still just a moment longer.”

He finally said, watching as the remaining marks faded, and all that remained was flawless pale skin, intact, untouched.

Well, no longer.

Graves couldn’t quite help himself, he reached out and grasped the boy’s left shoulder, and carefully guided him to turn, to face him.

“Better?”

He asked, his voice a low rasp, and the boy, Credence nodded, dark eyes wet with something he hoped wasn’t pain.

“Thank you.”

He whispered again, like some sort of mantra, or prayer.

He seemed to enjoy saying it to Graves.

“Forgive me.”

Graves’ hand moved from the boy’s shoulder to his neck and up to cradle his face, and the way he leaned into it was the final straw. Touch starved, and still fragile. He would need to proceed with caution.

He would stop if asked, but he suspected he wouldn’t be.

Credence’s own hands were fumbling, stuck at where they’d been locked together, braced in front of his chest, and so Graves took one, and squeezed it gently, feeling the cool skin warm as it lingered on his own feverishly hot hand.

Mere inches remained between their faces, and Credence seemed to be frozen, unable to move away or closer, so Graves did it for him.

Closed the distance, and barely brushed over the boy’s lips with his own.

He’d never felt sparks emanate from another human, much less a No-Maj at such contact, but it was a heady addictive thing, and he pressed nearer, mouth moving with purpose over Credence’s, and the shuddering gasp that escaped the boy’s lips was enough to tell Graves the advances were not unwanted.

But still, the boy retreated after a handful of seconds, breathing hard, and with a flush to his cheeks,

“I shouldn’t do this, we can’t, it’s wrong…”

Graves sighed, and rubbed his thumb over the back of the boy’s hand, while the other on his cheek slid around to grasp at his neck, and he felt the shiver run through his body.

“Like magic is wrong? What if it’s not? What if everything you’ve ever been told is a lie?”

His voice was unusually rough, and he blamed it on his rapidly dissolving self control. The couch was right there, and the urge to just pull the boy with him to it was strengthening, even as Credence remained still, unsure.

“I’ve dreamt of this.”

Credence finally said, as if he was confessing some great sin to Graves.

The boy looked up at him suddenly, eyes darker than Graves had ever seen, and with a shade of something like a hungry desperation in them.

Graves exhaled a shaky breath,

“So why fight it?”

There were many reasons that were surely running through the boy’s head. Least of all was his lack of experience. It was obvious by the mere fact that he seemed to crave any and every touch Graves granted him. Even the way he’d reacted the first time he’d healed his hand was enough to tell him that.

“Because I’m afraid.”

Credence answered, and the words rang with truth.

Graves nodded,

“Of course. You know, I will never hurt you. Never do anything you don’t want. This is all for you. I want to help your family be free.”

Even as he looked to be considering, falling to the darkness, giving in to sin, as it were, Graves couldn’t help himself, he leaned in, and let his lips graze over Credence’s collarbone, maybe for his own self indulgence, maybe to help sway his decision.

The restrained gasp that escaped the boy was music to Graves’ ears, and he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of smoke, of raw electricity, of untapped power, and he knew, in that moment, he hadn’t really been looking hard enough.

The Obscurus had been right in front of him all along.

Now, he was just in need of the right amount of care, to let the magic embrace him and no longer control him.

The boy would learn to control _it._

Graves pressed a dry kiss to the boy’s neck, and scattered a trail of them up his jaw, until he was hovering just in front of his mouth again,

“Tell me, have you ever wanted to taste fire, or touch lightning? That’s what it feels like.”

Graves pulled Credence’s hand in his forward, gently leading him to the couch, where he sat first, and the boy followed slowly, cautious, sitting beside him with his back so stiff it had to be taking every ounce of his control.

“What?”

He asked, a hushed sort of whisper, as if in awe.

Graves smirked, and dropped the boys hand, before reaching out to flatten his palm over his heart, feeling it pounding like a hummingbirds wings, and down further, feeling his sharp inhalation, and stopping just below his navel, fingers curled against his trouser waistband.

“The greatest sin of all.”

*

Credence more than suspected what the man was talking about, but the frission of arousal that shot through him when Graves’ hand lingered down his bare chest made his intentions clear.

“Is it true?”

Graves shifted his hand, until it was just grazing over Credence’s shameful tenting in his pants,

“What’s that?”

Credence licked his lips and then met Graves’ heated stare,

“That you can see the face of god…after?”

Graves chuckled, almost like a growl,

“I don’t about that. Why don’t you tell me what you see?”

He leaned in, and Credence met him halfway, almost hungry for another kiss, wrong as it might have been. The hour didn’t even occur to him, as his eyes fell shut and Graves tugged him closer, so that he was perched atop the man’s lap, and he could feel the hard prodding of what had to be Graves’ own desire.

It was almost dizzying, thinking that he’d brought about such a reaction, by doing almost nothing.

The kiss broke just as Credence had parted his lips, prepared to let Graves devour him,

“How are you feeling?”

Credence gulped,

“Good, I think.”

Graves’ hand was still hot, pressing and rubbing over Credence’s crotch, which felt almost painfully hard, and the tightness of his pants did not help.

“Do you want me to touch more?”

Graves’ voice was just a suggestion in his ear, and he nodded without even thinking about it.

“Yes. I mean, I’ve never, let myself, but you can, if you want.”

Graves blinked, surprised.

“Never?”

Credence nodded,

“I mean, it’s forbidden. It’s a sin itself.”

Graves looked almost amused, and his hand, or maybe his magic, made quick work of the clasp and zipper, and the next thing Credence knew he was gasping aloud, pressing his forehead against Graves’ shoulder, trying to find his bearings, drowning in the sensations as he ground himself against the man’s palm.

He almost didn’t want to look, afraid it was still all just part of his overactive imagination, but no, Graves’ strong sure hand, rough with calluses, was really dragging up and down and over his weeping cock, and the pleasure was driving him insane.

“Why does it feel so good?”

He managed to get out, in-between deep breathes, and Graves was kissing on his neck, grazing his teeth along his skin, but not hard enough to leave any lasting marks. Then again, he almost wanted him to. After all, he could be healed.

“Because you’ve never done it. You’re famished for it, my boy.”

When his hand sped up, Credence choked on a groan, and suddenly just wanted to be kissed again, as he felt an unfamiliar tightening in his gut, like he was a spring coiled to snap.

Graves’ other hand was tight, holding the back of his neck, keeping him close, kissing him so hard his lips were sure to bruise, and Credence felt his hips jerk up of their own accord, as his vision behind his lids went white, and he broke the kiss to pant out Graves’ name.

*

It was beautiful really.

It almost pained him to use magic to clean up Credence’s mess from his first orgasm, he’d have much preferred to use his mouth on him, but there wasn’t time for that.

Another occasion perhaps.

Now that he knew the truth, it was only a matter of time really.

“Credence, it’s time I should be getting you home.”

Clearly reluctant, the boy nodded, and shakily got to his feet, retrieving his clothing and trying to redo all the complicated fastenings.

Graves sighed, and shook his head.

“Here, let me.”

With a twirl of his fingers, he had the boy clad back in his puritanical garb, and for the final touch, he reached out and ran a hand through the boys hair, returning it to the more organized appearance.

“How can I reach you?”

Credence spoke up, after they’d returned to the lobby, and Graves was preparing to disapparate them.

“I have something.”

They landed in the alleyway, and he couldn’t even feel the bite of the evening air, not with Credence’s hand tight in his own.

It was as if his untapped magic was rising to the surface, begging to be set free.

“Take this with you. If you need me, simply rub your thumb over the symbol, and I will know.”

Graves held out the coin to Credence, who simply stared for a moment, then nodded.

“Okay.”

It was enchanted, not just a piece of their money, but was mirrored by another such like it. Graves had used trinkets like that to communicate with friends at school, and it was very useful.

“Be well. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

Graves was lost for a moment, staring at the boy’s lips, a bit pinker and swollen from his attentions, so he reached out, before he could think better of it, and brushed his finger over them, healing them effortlessly, so as not to invite any odd questions.

“Goodnight Credence.”

He dropped his hand, and disapparated.

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the 'back healing' idea was inspired by this story <3  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/8598349

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me about these two on my tumblr if ya want: andscattermanysins.tumblr.com
> 
>  
> 
> also overall i'm a very much a HEA kind of shipper, i don't want bad things for anyone, i wanted it to be as clear as possible, credence resists the whole thing, because he has been conditioned to think its wrong/sinful/whatever but its quite not.
> 
> i may write another ficlet for them cause i realllllllly want some consensual BDSM type shit but no one has done anything for it.  
> and also maybe something tina x graves x credence idk.  
> i do think she's very much a protective force in credence's mind, and he adores her for that, and also for sending graves to continue helping him.  
> i just have a lot of feels for these folks.


End file.
